A Year Later

My husband's heart surgery was a year ago tomorrow. The following poem has been my companion, off and on, ever since.
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] 
    i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you 
    here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart 
    i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
For his part, my husband says he feels more like these lines:
     I have not been unhappy for ten thousand years.
During the day I laugh and during the night I sleep.
My favourite cooks prepare my meals,
my body cleans and repairs itself,
and all my work goes well.
They're from Leonard Cohen's poem, "I Have Not Lingered in European Monasteries," which is from The Spice-Box of Earth.

He means, of course, that he feels quite well, not that I'm any great shakes as a cook. 

It's been quite a year. A good one, on balance. And we're both grateful.